


Pulling Rank

by Laur



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, M/M, PWP, Slight Military Kink, Smut, Unsafe driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You asked me if I enjoyed it,” John commented casually, posture taking on a military preciseness as he straightened his spine. “But I think the more interesting question is if <i>you</i> enjoyed it.”</p><p><br/>
</p><p>A short, smutty interlude during the drive back to town after escaping the Baskerville testing site.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Rank

“Oh, please,” John scoffed, “can we not do this, this time?”

Looking at him over the hood of the Land Rover, Sherlock furrowed his brow. “Do what?”

“You being all mysterious with your…” his eyes flitted appreciatively along Sherlock’s face, “cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.” He retreated to the passenger door while Sherlock digested that briefly.

“I don’t do that.” He grabbed the handle to the driver’s side.

“Yeah, you do,” John retorted, getting in.

Sherlock settled into his seat with a shake of the head and started the SUV, the engine vibrating to life around them. Glancing at his companion as they left the army base behind, Sherlock considered the soft, lined face, the unassuming expression and the unthreatening stature, so different from the dominating soldier that had taken charge only moments before. The colour was still a little high in John’s cheeks, the only remaining hint of their exciting near-capture. 

Dark blue eyes flitted his direction and Sherlock quickly focused back on the road in front of him, hands tight on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed John lick his lips, his gaze steady on Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock shifted minutely in his seat.

“You asked me if I enjoyed it,” John commented casually, posture taking on a military preciseness as he straightened his spine. “But I think the more interesting question is if _you_ enjoyed it.”

Sherlock swallowed and managed a scathing, “What are you talking about?” 

“That’s ‘what are you talking about, sir’,” John corrected sharply and Sherlock sucked in a breath.

Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’ve come to an erroneous conclusion.”

“Oh, really?”

“While it was useful and, in a sense, amusing and pleasing to see you pull rank on that corporal, I’ve never taken kindly to being told what to –” His voice cut off abruptly as a small, warm hand settled on his thigh, fingers squeezing suggestively.

“Shut up,” John ordered, and Sherlock did precisely that, snapping his mouth closed.

The back of his neck felt hot, and Sherlock glared through the windshield as that neat, deft hand skimmed up his trousers and settled with fingers nudging his groin. John was leaning over the gear stick, seatbelt straining, but Sherlock did not move to make it easier for him.

With a sharp swat to the upper thigh, John barked, “Spread,” and Sherlock’s traitorous body responded automatically. Sherlock grunted as his legs opened and John leaned back briefly to work himself free of his seatbelt, then leaned over again.

“If we get into an accident,” Sherlock accused, voice mostly steady as John pulled down his zip, “it will be entirely your fault.”

“Keep your eyes on the road,” John snapped, and eased Sherlock’s erection free of pants and trousers.

Eyes fluttering closed briefly, Sherlock only felt a fleeting moment of embarrassment for how hard he was already before John’s lips closed over the tip of his erection. Knuckles whitening on the steering wheel, Sherlock struggled to keep his foot on the pedal, his whole body aching to plant his feet and thrust up into the exquisite heat of John’s mouth. It was quite impressive, really, the way John was contorted over the gear stick, half-way off his seat and spine twisted so he could bury his face in Sherlock’s lap. Should anyone pass them on the deserted road between the base and the main town, John wouldn’t even be visible through the windshield.

With a hum and an inelegant slurping sound, John sucked him down nearly to the root and Sherlock gasped harshly, the vehicle lurching as his foot stuttered on the pedal, toes curling in his shoes. Glancing at the speedometer, he realized he was driving fifteen over the limit and forced himself to ease off the gas, his eyelids heavy as he stared blindly at the road. A whimper escaped his throat as John’s head began to bob, his greying blond hair obscuring most of what he was doing. Normally, Sherlock liked John between his legs when they engaged in this act, so that he could watch the way John’s cheeks hollowed, the way his thin lips swelled and stretched around him, the way his eyes closed in concentration and his chin dripped with saliva and Sherlock’s pre-ejaculate. This was exciting in a different way, the feeling without seeing, not being able to predict what would happen next.

“You love this,” Sherlock forced out, voice strained. He felt totally restrained, by his clothing, by the seat-belt, by John’s clenching grip on his lower thigh, and needed to gain a bit of control, even if it was only by throwing John slightly off his game. “You love how reckless, how dangerous this is.”

The tip of John’s tongue made a fluttering motion against his frenulum and Sherlock swore breathlessly, his hands spasming as his head thudded back against the headrest. The vehicle swerved into the other lane before Sherlock managed to steady himself, and John pulled off.

“Don’t you?” John retorted with a cheeky grin, pupils immense and face flushed. He rearranged himself so that he was on his knees, sideways, on his seat, and bent his head back to the task, holding nothing back. A building was just visible in the distance, a looming marker of a deadline, and John worked him hard, an edge of rushed desperation to his movements. 

Unable to restrain himself, Sherlock moaned loudly as John’s dexterous tongue teased and fluttered along his length, the hint of teeth making his spine tingle, the sultry cavern of his mouth and throat making his hips twitch uncontrollably. John’s right hand was gripping his seat for balance, but his left delved between Sherlock’s legs, urging Sherlock to slouch as his fingers stroked over the outline of his testicles through his trousers and then settled against his perineum, pushing and rubbing intently. 

A jolt of pleasure ran through him and suddenly orgasm felt much closer. The sounds of John’s mouth on him became much wetter as Sherlock leaked with excitement, the shallow thrusts of his hips constant now, his whole body flushed and overly hot, sweat trickling down his spine and under his arms. 

“It arouses you when I lose control,” Sherlock choked out, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head as John’s head bobbed rapidly and his fingers pressed hard. It was difficult to keep his foot on the pedal when his legs kept wanting to spread wide. “And now that loss of control has a risk attached to it. You’re nearly coming in your pants, aren’t you, John, just at the thought of it. Me, pleasured beyond reason, unable to even drive straight, likely to send us careening into a ditch.”

The desperate sound John made around him was too high to be a moan, but the vibrations sent Sherlock dangerously close to the edge anyway. With a frantic groan, Sherlock arched in his seat, foot pressing the pedal hard just as John lurched closer to him, knocking the stick out of gear. The engine revved harshly as it worked in neutral, and Sherlock quickly took his foot off the pedal to plant both feet and press up into John’s welcoming mouth. He managed to pull the vehicle over to the shoulder of the road before grabbing at John’s hair with one hand and coming down his throat, neck straining as his head tilted back, his throat too tight for anything but a high, wheezing cry. His hips lifted entirely off the seat as John worked him through it, mouth lax and fingers circling soothingly, easing him down from the peak of nearly pained pleasure. 

The moment Sherlock slumped back in his seat, mustering just enough energy to press on the break and ease the rolling vehicle to a stop, John pulled back to his own seat, tearing open his jeans and pulling out his purpling erection. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed his head back, feet firmly planted as he masturbated furiously, his small hand sliding over his copiously slick shaft.

“That’s it,” Sherlock panted, trying to lower his voice to that rumbling register that drove John insane. “I want to see it, yes, come on, _yes_.”

“Fuck!” he choked out, a harsh cry breaking from his lips as he ejaculated forcefully. The motions of his hand gentled as the twitching of his erection settled and stopped. 

They sat, slumped in their seats, panting for several minutes, the SUV idling on the side of the road.

“So, the email from Kirsty,” John said at last, still sprawled indecently. “The missing luminous rabbit.”

“Kirsty Stapleton,” Sherlock clarified, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers and tucking his damp penis back into his pants with a grimace. “Whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation.”

“She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark? Have you got a tissue?”

Sherlock shook his head at the second question and zipped and buttoned his trousers. “Probably a fluorescent gene.”

Glancing around in vain, John sighed and wiped his sticky hand on his shirt under his coat, where a dubious stain wouldn’t be as noticeable. 

“Removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough, these days.”

“So?” John wondered, fixing his own clothes.

Shifting into first, Sherlock eased back onto the road. “So we know that Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is, has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?”

Sucking in a breath, John nodded and redid his seatbelt. “To be fair, that is quite a wide field.”

Amused, Sherlock glanced at him, at his still-flushed cheeks and a hint of fluid still on his chin. Throwing the Land Rover back into neutral, Sherlock slammed on the breaks in the middle of the empty road and seized John by the back of the neck, pulling him over until their noses brushed. Closing his eyes, Sherlock licked his chin, tasting skin and sweat and semen and feeling John’s sharp exhalation on his cheek. A hand buried itself in Sherlock’s hair, tugging on the curls and sending shivers down the back of Sherlock’s neck, and John brought their lips together eagerly, kissing him with more excitement than any well-shagged man ought to have. Sherlock was breathless again when they separated, and really, this was getting ridiculous.

“You,” John declared, lips still brushing his, “are brilliant. Mad, but brilliant.”

“I know.” Pressing one last kiss to the corner of John’s mouth, Sherlock settled into the driver’s seat and once again shifted the vehicle into motion, determined to make it back to town without any more distractions.

“And we are going back to the hotel so I can change before we go any further with this investigation,” John ordered. “I feel disgusting.”

“You started it,” Sherlock muttered with a smirk and John thwacked him on the arm. “No hitting the driver!”

“Berk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](http://notesoflore.tumblr.com/)


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